deercountry | april catch

Entry tags:

april catch - all

Who: viktor and others, open to all with some closed prompts
What: some late march/early april logs, including some tdm stuff. i'm happy to attach something else on if anyone's interest in doing something specific
When: late march through april
Where: various

content warning; terminal illness, arcane season 1 spoilers, likely game typical beast gore/body horror, potentially ableism mentioned, claustrophobic imagery

open prompts.

fishers of dreams - the lighthouse, early april (tdm)

a. while awake

[if you've been roped into this lighthouse business too you may enter to find a man already there. he seems vaguely disgruntled by the business, offers vague greetings but otherwise sticks to scribbling in his notebook. it looks like schematics and formulae, but anyone with an eye for either might notice they tend to trail off and start in odd bursts.

viktor will offer to cook when evening falls (or whatever seems to be the right mealtime in this place) so maybe that is a better time to strike up conversation. the smell coming from the kitchen is heavy on whatever spices the place stocks, promising pain to anyone who doesn't have the stomach for that sort of thing. worse if he finds the rotgut liquor tucked away, which he will pull out and offer despite smelling more like turpentine than anything edible.

these tricks of the eye though, flashes of people vaguely recognizable, he chalks it up more hallucinations. last month was mushrooms, so this? irritating, far more distracting, but it followed the pattern.

it isn't until later in all this he'll track whoever is with him down.] Did you see someone else come through? There, just up the stairs.

b. nightmare

[trying to reach the odd lighthouses is fruitless, the shadows converge and when the dark clears the area seems more closed in than before. it shouldn't be, he was just outside on the shore, yet now the dark sky seems to hang too low, lower still, suffocating.]

What now? This is another illusion of sorts, is it not? One this place is so fond of. [viktor sounds more irritated than anything, maybe defensive since the grip his has on his crutch is white-knuckle tight. in the distance seems to be a lighthouse, though the light is far and the area is so stifling, promising a tunnel that will close and snuff out the light entirely.

it's ridiculous of course, the walls are not that close, certainly not enough for this suffocating grip on the lungs and throat. there's no real explanation, less so when a few steps forward and the ground begins to dot with great metal cables, the distinct, sickly sweet smell of chemicals in the air. there are pools between them where the ocean should have been, this time shallow spills of what could be gasoline or something similar, slick rainbow puddles, oily and difficult to walk through without slipping or sinking.]

(ooc; for this one please, feel free to add your own character's nightmare in any flavor at any point!)

odds and ends - willful machine, early april

[viktor can be found around the vendors often enough, especially those specializing in scrap metal, tools or small machinery. for the most part he doesn't stick out, except for the fact often his massive omen often accompanies him, some sort of huge pink salamander/axolotl that he'll lean against or ask rather politely to help carry larger purchases.

he doesn't seem to notice or care about any attention, though the creature will blink curiously around. feel free to approach or find him haggling rather intently for such a stick of a man, accent thickening when it gets heated enough. maybe you want the same scrap? or are looking for something and he's standing nearby enough to notice a lost look and offers assistance?]

[one might also find him about by the sound of a nasty coughing fit. he stands with his back curled, a rag to his mouth as a makeshift handkerchief. it's a wet cough that shakes his entire frame, and when it's over his sniffs and clears his throat, straightening.

the cloth is stained in a pale color that catches the perpetual moonlight of april. paleblood, that he regards for a moment before folding the cloth in on itself with a small frown.]

closed prompts.

jinx - willful machine, late march

[viktor doesn't stay by the lamp exactly. he would usually but he hardly sees the point when this person he's meeting knows him by sight as far as he can tell. it leaves him feeling comfortable to wander within eyeshot mostly of the lantern, strolling down the canal docks to find a place to stand and watch the boats cut slowly through the water.

he likes it here, he thinks, in this district. the noise and foot traffic, the winding canals and dirty water, the boats bobbing to and fro - it wouldn't be a bad place to set up. a lab that will double as his home because he doesn't see the point in separating the two any longer, even if he can practically hear heimendinger's tutting about his work-life balance in his ear. it will be closer to the vendors, less of a hike to acquire what he'll need to start fresh. first a new brace for his leg and back, then some basic experiments into lunar energy to get a feel for it.

his lungs flare and burn, minor enough he manages to swallow it down without reaching for the rag in his pocket. he makes a note of the severity and timing, adds it to his growing mental list that seems to indicate his illness does indeed remain but is diminished. promising, if he's being optimistic, but at the moment he feels only a sense of irritation that now he doesn't know the timeline of his own life. one he might be shortening drastically with this ridiculous stunt.

a sigh and viktor goes back to watching the boats, trying to clear his head. he considers trying to message vi and ask her opinion of this but... no, he doubts he'll get anything. he's not sure if he disgusts her as a class traitor or amuses her in truth. better to just see for himself what he's gotten himself into like a fool.]

allen - willful machine, early april

[the 'grand tour' doesn't amount to much yet, the lab area just a large, empty space dotted with a few tables and a couple of desks, not even a chalkboard he's been keeping an eye out for or something that could do the same. one of the desks at least is littered with junk, at the moment tools and the starts of a knee brace, a table nearby with all the scrap he's managed to grab that could be useful in the future. one corner has a cot, maybe he'll clear out whatever other small rooms the place has later for a bedroom proper. maybe not.

viktor seems satisfied with it as he gestures around, and rio has commandeered one of the tables for her own to lie across.] A solid start, I think. I like this area, this eh... Willful Machine, that is.

[he'll never admit part of it is the boats. everyone's allowed a sort of childish interest, right? they're soothing, even if they lack the motors that fascinated him.] Have a seat, if you'd like. How have you been since the tombs?

wildcard.

[as i said, feel free to ask for anything else, including other tdm prompts, i am more interested in seeing the worlds built by others for the archway prompts so i didn't include any here. my plurk is

dichotomy or you can dm me here!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Palamedes hums, considering a place with a genocidal hatred of anything like he's considering it from infinitely far away; the Sixth has never cared for the Emperor's war, and Imperial enemies have never encroached upon his daily life, so this thing that Viktor describes and the one he can compare to are - distant. Outside the scope of his smaller existence.

He has perhaps had too much colorful liquor to articulate about war and various hatreds. He's thinking about the poem again like a song stuck in his head, rolling the meter over and giving Viktor a small smile for his good poetic ear.]

I believe you, but: flatterer, [he says, for the praise of the Sixth's part, and helpfully,] The Eighth love to produce judgmental cretins who like to call names and denounce anything that moves.

[Said with a shake of his head, and after Viktor adds his piece he takes the pen back to write '+ swords' under the academia. For the fighting, of course. Then he holds the napkin up in front of them both, looking at it with pride.]

We've done it; unsurprisingly, but it bears declaring. An excellent start.

Oh, was that the one with the... the inbred comment? [viktor vaguely remembers that. was it the eighth? his memory is usually better but he's had a bit too much blue for things not to be pleasantly fuzzy around the edges and, more so, not seem all that important.

unlike this work, that gives viktor an odd feeling as he looks down at it.] I've never helped with something like this before. I don't really do 'creative' outside of engineering.

[and it's interesting, as it turns out, to help create something not from metal and magic. something enjoyable like the boats of his childhood, simply there for entertainment rather than furthering som agenda or serving a grander purpose. the whole hobby angle they spoke of and struggled with, something just for fun.

well, aside from the fact this was obviously a proper literary work in the making. still he looks over to pal with a small smile, arms still brushing as he says,] Thank you, Palamedes.

[for being fun, for sharing it with him- feelings. he doesn't even look down in embarrassment this time, the alcohol enough to ease any nerves in the matter of vulnerability.]

Edited (forgot to finish that because i am a fool) 2022-04-16 07:34 (UTC)

[A short nod, equally not giving the Eighth's garbage mouth any actual importance. He'd called them a few things himself and settled on "consistent," which is not a compliment, and they aren't here now, besides. He doubts he will ever see the adept of the Eighth, his rude little mouth, or his unfortunate cavalier ever again. The rest of the House, at large, can go screw.

This moment, here, is for Viktor - the nebulous edges of what's simply the alcohol making him feel warm and pleasant and comfortable blend so completely into feeling all of those things without its help. Funny to think that a silly romance-slash-heist-slash-action novel has done this, but Palamedes isn't fool enough to discount Viktor. That it's specifically Viktor sitting here and not someone else — for one thing, the silly novel would have been different.]

I didn't have help the first time, [he offers, with a grateful softness.] All this might have taken me ages on my own.

[Which - quality remains to be seen, but having another mind is the point. Viktor says thank you, and he smiles, and Palamedes' fingers twitch. He recalls with perfect clarity even now the monotony and loneliness of spending weeks into months isolated, with only a stupid romance novel and a pencil for company. Call it that memory, call it the alcohol, call it Viktor's smile close enough to touch — an amalgam of any of those draws Palamedes in, twitchy fingers brushing Viktor's arm, then his elbow, then his shoulder in a manner of moments, tugging him into an earnest hug.

He's grateful, and unabashed, and swimming in just enough liquor that his carefully sorted compartments can spill into the forefront unbidden and he can get a little messy. This, of course, is messy. Ahem.]

Thank you, [he says somewhere in the vicinity of Viktor's ear, hi,] I'm telling you, you're good. I might even say gifted.

[viktor supposes that makes sense, surely writing is usually a single person's endeavor rather than a group activity. after this evening something about it feels a little lonely though, so his lips quirk further in something like satisfaction at being able to be a part of things.

before he can say anything to that effect pal is pulling him in, and he blinks in confusion before- oh. they're hugging, pal's hugging him. jayce did sometimes but it was few and far between, usually saved for ecstatic moments of discovery in late night lab sessions. it's funny their story can be like one of those discoveries, that the gratitude can come simply from viktor appreciating what they did together.

he lifts his arms to return it, face warm in a way that is surely the alcohol. his grip is tighter than he realizes, maybe clinging a little to the moment before it's gone.

pal is good at hugs, he thinks, though maybe it's just pal is pal and that's all it really takes. which is something to unpack that he'll steadfastly not unpack in coming days, laughing quietly, breath probably brushing somewhere near pal's neck]

Any time. It's eh... it's not a bad hobby. [he murmurs. the issue of letting go is solved when a wolf whistle from a passerby startles him enough to pull back a little, hands still on pal's arms and still a touch flushed. from the alcohol. he squints at the offender before looking to pal with a chuckle, shaking his head.]

[Palamedes is excellent at hugs, for those who can appreciate skinny arms and a bit of a clutch. He's been sorely missing this much earnestly close contact since all but attaching himself to Camilla, months ago when she was here, and for an extended moment he simply wants to appreciate the physicality of it as much as he's appreciating Viktor. The lingering desire to reaffirm his own, hm, solidity after unceremoniously coming back from the dead hasn't completely gone away in a mere two weeks, who knew—

But those thoughts are for later, when he's feeling philosophical. This is Viktor, warm and a little clingy - a muted surprise that makes Palamedes quirk a smile, unseen - and breath against his neck, which is centering in a wholly different way than the philosophical, conveniently for his peace of mind.

He lingers on that, is still lingering on it when someone whistles and Viktor pulls back - but not all the way, which he'll linger on in turn. Is public hugging on the sexy party level, here in Trench? Huh!

Or: he boggles a bit, like he's just remembered there are other people in the room, hands lingering on Viktor in the same way.]

Oh; we're causing a scene. [Haha, hardly, and he looks at Viktor again with a flash of a grin.] You know, writing wasn't on the list.

[Why do they even make lists. He lingers close to Viktor for a moment too long, before letting go with a pang of - of something or other, to be put in its own box and considered later. The napkin gets folded up tidily and stuck in his pocket, and he looks at the empty glasses. Hmm.]

Do you want another drink? [like... he Could... but Should they, is the big question.]

No- to be fair I do not think I'd enjoy it on my own. [it is fun like this though, specifically with pal and his easy humor and quick wit. he swallows as he pulls back himself, trying not to linger on the odd pang of loss.

normal of course, humans tend to crave contact. pal's voice close to his ear is just something he'll remember too well for too long.

his attention goes to their glasses as the music changes, a helpless, amused exhale as he leans in just a little to admit like a secret,] Between you and me I think the alcohol is just a bit stronger than assumed. [not drunk at least, which he thinks they probably both would be if they had another glass.

he isn't sure he wants to be drunk but he doesn't really want this series of moments to end either, so he offers,] If we do Rio might need to help us home. I am... not against this, though it would likely be wiser to leave.

[He hums in vague agreement; yeah, no, it was pretty much out of boredom and desperation that he took up writing entire goofy novels in the first place, this makes sense.]

Is it? We did pick based on color. I utterly failed at tracking my alcohol response. [Geniuses. He picks up his empty glass to peer at it, as if that will help him determine just how much alcohol is sitting in each of them right now. A lot? Enough? He doesn't feel drunk - but then, he isn't entirely sure what "drunk" feels like, having only the one prior experience with pink fizzy drinks. Warm and pleasant feels good, and he glances at Viktor, considering what to do now.

It's not that he feels a powerful need to clear his head of the warm and pleasant haze, but going home sounds... dull? A waste of some restless energy he's always got.]

Let's not put Rio through the chore of dealing with us.

[... But,] Are you up for some sightseeing? In the dark.

I think we're tipsy. Warmth, vaguely lowered inhibitions but not to any extreme, etc. [he vaguely ticks off the list with his fingers, decides against going into the chemistry of it because he isn't sure he wants to know what they actually just drank. it tasted way too organic to be anything he's used to, and that's a little alarming to think about.

he nods along, that is the responsible, smart thing to do. a bit of a shame but- ah, then pal offers that and he perks up a bit.]

It's always dark. And I haven't seen this area before. [and it'd clear their heads along with prolonging the night. he reaches for his crutch, using it to pull himself up with only a minimal wobble before offering his hand to pal.] Shall we?

[Already failed step one: no blood powder, huh-- Palamedes makes a face, like he both desperately wants to write this down so please save it for later, but he also wants to hear Viktor list off the Tipsy Attributes? For reference? Woe is Palamedes, stuck at a nerd impasse.]

You haven't? I want to get a better look at that massive bloodstone they've hung on the front of the other establishment we passed— the opulent one.

[Which means he wants to climb up there and chip off pieces, but since that's probably a crime that would get them banned from Cellar Door for an arbitrary amount of time, he'll settle for sitting outside and looking up at it.

But, ah- he takes the offered hand (warm and a little electric, thanks cocktails) and stands, immediately swaying in a way that makes his eyebrows go up and his other hand windmill a little, oop-]

Oh, [he manages, good god,] Well, I'm beginning to understand the overall effect. Let's go.

That is a bloodstone? Like the gems we're studying? [viktor's immediately interested- hell, even if it's a normal stone it's kind of a Lot to look at. and if it extends the pleasant evening he's not complaining.

he's also wondering about how terrible it would be just get a little sample, so the life of crime is really thriving in the trench it seems.

viktor keeps a tight grasp on his hand when he sways, hoping to keep him steady and hardly against prolonged contact besides. he is not drunk enough to admit how much the hug reminded him he misses casual contact and has never had any idea how to gracefully initiate it. certainly not drunk enough to think of contact with pal specifically needs its own classification, because he keeps wanting to linger in ways he never did before.

he chuckles, reluctantly letting go when pal steadies himself.] If you feel unsteady on your feet I can still call Rio. [a pause] Or you can hold my arm. This crutch is sturdier than it looks.

I'm about ninety percent certain it is. [And it's so large! Damn! Surely no one will miss a sliver— but no, they'll start by just looking at it. The bloodstone isn't even an excuse to extend this 'celebration' by wandering around some more, he really wants to stare at it. But if, as a bonus...

Hmm. Well, he's steadied, taking an experimental step side-to-side, to be sure he can remain upright. The whole world does not lurch up to meet him, which is a good sign; he can make it to the big rock, at the very least.]

We'll see; thanks. [wait.] Sorry, did you outdrink me that quickly? Am I really that much of a lightweight?

[Oh god, he is... that bodes well for the next party thrown by teens with lots of tequila he's going to get strongarmed into, doesn't it. He sighs, very put-upon by his garbage tolerance, and sidles around the table to the other side. Still upright; ten points. Disingenuously pretending he needs a hand is embarrassing, but who knows, in the dark...]

I have about a dozen questions about how a gem of that size is made, and many of them raise alarming possibilities. [viktor says as if that amuses him. massive creatures making them? made from the blood of countless people? not particularly funny, but dark humor is a coping mechanism more than a good time anyway.

and it's interesting, so that helps.

he watches pal move, easing before nodding for them to head to the exit. it's just as crowded as when they came in and he has to wonder if the perpetual night has been a boon for the place. personally he's sick of how skewed his sense of time has become.]

Probably, I am sorry to say. Neither of us have the muscle mass for it and I am getting the idea that drinking isn't something you are accustomed to- thus, lightweight status. [he glances over, making sure they don't get separated in the crowd.] Does the Sixth not have much in the way of liquor?

There's likely someone we could ask, but I don't know if they'll take questions from anyone who isn't a paying customer. [Or... trading customer, whichever. Semantics, point being: if they just strolled in asking about the pretty rock and not participating, it might be unwelcome.

He lets Viktor lead the way towards the exit, minding his step and trying not to elbow anyone on the way. Viktor has the maneuvering experience in this kind of place, so it works out just fine - and Palamedes doesn't fall.]

We'd have to import it. I'm normally busy, anyway; Camilla and I aren't much for this kind of thing.

[Camilla wouldn't get drunk, and Palamedes doesn't see the point on his own? Besides, he had plenty of more pressing things to do - that is the whole truth. His lips quirk up, for a moment-]

You're in uncharted territory. [haha, anyway,] Necromancers aren't impressive when it comes to physical hardiness, regardless. I'm not an outlier.

[Well, he kind of is, being this skinny. Still. As they reach the stairs out he looks straight down at them as he climbs, so as to not trip and roll all the way back down the moment the world sways on him again. Fresh air, that's the goal.]

Hm, we'll have to go as customers one day to find out, I suppose. Though I am still a little unclear as to what we'd be paying for. [the giant bloodstone seems kind of important to know about though, not even just for his curiosity. surely the workers or owners would have some knowledge of it that might be helpful in their studies, right?

even though a sample would be the most useful thing. he doubts any amount of patronage is going get them that. a shame they aren't actually good at heists in a real way.]

Hm, I'm surprised you didn't make it in a backroom somewhere. [not pal exactly but bored sixth people. maybe they did and pal wasn't invited, he was the warden. illegal brewing probably would be frowned upon.

he glances to pal with a smile but notices the concentration, his own brow furrowing as he reaches over to put a steadying hand on his back. he'll just keep it there as they walk, glancing ahead and taking it slow on the stairs for both their sakes.

ah, fresh air. he doesn't move his hand just yet, just incase.] You haven't thrown up so I consider this a success. How is your hand, by the way?

There is a stage— I know a musician here, she'd mentioned performing there. I'll make a note to ask. [About what goes on there and maybe if she knows anything about the big rock, both. She's a sharp one with her fingers in a few pies, who knows - maybe they... talk... about it? Backstage?

He'll work on it. And maybe the Sixth did have a back room making bone-moonshine, who knows; this is definitely not the kind of thing Palamedes was interested in, but he wouldn't be surprised. He scoffs, amused and leaning towards Viktor a smidge, just in case.]

The Oversight Body would have had a field day. I could have modified some tubing for them to use, if they were back there somewhere. [A beat.] I don't know how alcohol is made.

[Ha— and now they're out in the fresh air, the evening chill (well, he assumes it's evening) a welcome reprieve after the cloistered humidity at Earworm's entrance. It hits him full in the face and he feels - sharper, despite all logic telling him he isn't any sharper at all with the alcohol still in his system. Still, it's the moment: the fresh air, the neon glow behind them, the press of Viktor's hand - another moment to wrap carefully and remember, more precious almost in its simplicity.

Hoo boy. Alright. He looks down at his hand.] It's— fine. It stings, but it's nothing intolerable. We passed The Red on our way here; shall we?

Ah, there you are. You have contacts. Very savvy. [viktor glances over, amused.] Or what would you call it... an in?

[the area has a similar bustle the willful machine has, a sort of activity that he finds comforting, like white noise in this odd world. gaze is taking a little getting used to if he's honest, though it's a worthwhile endeavor to see pal flitting about when he gets back from the lab.

he moves his hand away, but not before offering a pat against pal's shoulder, starting to move ahead where they came.]

Mostly complex processes of fermentation that can easily cause minor explosions or a build up of dangerous gases. This Oversight Body would be absolutely besides themselves, I promise. [he answers with a tip of the head.

his gaze does go to pal's hand for a moment- bleeding and alcohol don't typically mix so he's just taking a peek, that's all. he turns to take a better look at the area, closer than before, brow raising at the artistry of it.] I often wonder what the Trench looked like in its prime.

I would call it that, yes. She calls me PM, which I think qualifies for "in" status. [Having a nickname! One that isn't sex pal, even! He's moved up in the world.

He has less innate fondness for the crowds than Viktor, though not an outright dislike; it's just the Sixth sensibilities, wanting to get everywhere as quickly as possible, following the most direct path. But they're celebrating, and he's tipsy and enjoying wandering the much more visually impressive neighborhood with Viktor, and so he will not, ah- elbow anybody. Today.]

Hm, it explodes? Now I want to see it. If only we had a spare lab to risk equipment in.

[Alas! It's back toward The Red, and Palamedes' gaze is drawn up, at so many tall buildings clustered in the same place. The Library sitting in a crater is, hm, the opposite of this? He's not sure how much he likes it, but he can't deny being impressed. It's easier to stare up at the literal sky, just there, when it's this dark, too; like maybe it doesn't continue, and continue...]

If I had to guess: taller.

Oh, a nickname too? Impressive. [truly he's made it in the world, chalkboard heists and knowing someone who works in a place.] Is she a sleeper too?

[no seven year olds to elbow either, like family tradition. viktor keeps it slow even for his usual pace, sticking to the side of the street where it's less likely that pace will annoy anyone.] We could recreate it on a smaller scale, if you'd like- though I suppose then we'd just be making a very ineffective makeshift bomb.

[sort of a poor man's fireworks, which makes him wonder-] Have you ever seen fireworks? [a bit all over the place but it's nice to let his mind wander as they wander. the logistics of pal wants to see an explosion -> how can he make that happen -> maybe fireworks would be more enjoyable and slightly safer.

viktor looks over to pal instead of the sky or buildings, agreeing with that assessment. wondering what they sky looked like through a view screen on another planet.] And in less pieces in many areas.

She is; she fought crabs for me.

[A valuable asset, for sure. She is also an android, which Palamedes briefly wonders and then assumes, duh, would be of interest to Viktor - he will remember this, the next time he speaks to her.

But oh, what's this? Explosions? This is pressing directly on the irresponsible part of him that never gets to come out, thanks. Should he encourage fireworks for fun? Eh— he's about to, so never mind thinking about it, actually.]

I know what fireworks are. Explosives are dangerous in a closed space, but I'm familiar with the concept. [A beat.] I might know where to find fireworks.

[Spoiler: it's tequila teens. The caveat is they might want to have a party with fireworks outside the bunker. It's unclear.]

Mm; probably. [He doesn't cynically wonder why they don't rebuild some of the worse off areas, having seen the First; it is what it is. After a beat he looks at Viktor, lips quirking to find him looking back.] What?

Oh, she was on this crab adventure I keep hearing about. [sometimes he just wants to ask for the full story, others he kind of enjoys it being just the Crab Boat Thing that gets passing mentions, living in endless possibility.] What's her name?

[but fireworks, and again pal has contacts which is just delightful. the sort of people he knows is just a tapestry.] You really do have a... a lay of the land, is it? I'm not sure how safe loud explosions and bright lights are here but- well, you may enjoy them far more than a still explosion.

[he's seen them plenty, mostly in piltover on progress day. admittedly he often found them an annoying distraction in the background, but he is trying to be a little less work obsessed. look at them now! hobbies and drinking. he might even enjoy fireworks, and he'd certainly enjoy pal having the chance to see them at least once.

of course pal notices him and he has to glance away, embarrassed to be caught. he's not even sure what crime he was committing, just that something was being committed.] Oh eh... just wondering what the sky looked like in your world. From the view screen, that is.

Anna, and— do I? [Well, maybe - he's never considered himself a particularly rousing socialite, but the nature of this place being what it is... hm.] I can ward us a perimeter, regardless.

[A beat. Like, with blood. He will bleed all over the place for fireworks, is the implication, and he will be just fine. It's a thing now, seeing fireworks for the sake of seeing them - even if they're irresponsibly fired in the field outside their home.

Should be fine. His smile widens a fraction, softening in the same moment; is he being shy? That's - mmph, that's something, tipsy thoughts tumbling over 'sweet' and 'endearing' before he can focus and settle on being touched, that Viktor is thinking of the Sixth even now.]

Dark, mostly. It's only novel for your first space rock collision.

I'm afraid you do, you have connections and can get things. [viktor informs him like a faux condolence. a ward, that might work, though he says,] If you mean with blood let us collect that ahead of time in a less eh... less messy manner.

[or find another way, he'll keep that in mind. incense? he's not sure that would be enough. maybe he'll ask some hunters about it.]

No stars? [that seems a shame, though he admits the space rock collision sounds kind of cool. he wonders for a moment if it's easy to get along with pal because of oddly similar experiences, kids stuck somewhere a little dark with not a lot of room or ability to move freely. too many ideas and only so much power to make them happen.]

Sometimes I'm torn between how much I would like to see of your world and how much I'd like to show you what it couldn't. [that just sort of comes out, more an idle thought that slips out loud, bordering on sentimental without him quite realizing.]

Terrible; I'm supposed to be a mysterious recluse. [mystique.] And yes, I'll remember the bottling. How are you feeling, by the way? You sound better; I'm glad.

[If the fireworks incident (party optional) needs warding, it won't be the kind of hasty work as the heist, so he will most likely remember to bleed responsibly. And if the sun going out helps Viktor's cough stay in hand - isn't that a paleblood thing, he thinks, something about the moon? - then all the better for it.

But oh, and he's about to wiggle a hand, like, there are a so-so number of stars visible over the rim of the crater and beyond space rocks, but Viktor has to go and say something like that and it stops him short, hand raised and not gesturing in the slightest. Oh; oh, and no one has ever shown him a sentiment like that, leaving him completely undone for a moment that feels longer than it is. Here he's been working in all these asides - the Oversight Body would think them both a headache, Viktor would thrive on the Sixth, each of them a drop of the same kind of hypothetical.

He would like Viktor to see the Sixth, he thinks. That one is easy. It's the latter part that he turns over like something delicate, fingers curling on empty air before he drops his hand only to reach out again a second later, fingertips pressed into Viktor's arm in a gesture that means- something.]

I would let you show me, [is what comes out, fireworks and boat engines and all the rest. He almost quips about making another list, but that feels, ah, gauche? In this moment? Better not.] Would you?

You're a man of the town now. [viktor shakes his head. the question surprises him a little, more because he's used to a certain fretting over his health that tended to grate but pal makes it sound so casual. he really is just glad, it's as simple as asking because he just wants to know.]

I'm feeling good. [he says honestly, glancing up to say,] This month has been good, I think... the moon makes palebloods stronger? I usually feel better at night since coming here. This month has done wonders, I admit.

[he met pal this month too, which is a kind of sentimental he isn't drunk enough just to say. he does think it though with a little smile to himself.

he doesn't expect the moment of quiet, glancing over curiously. he certainly doesn't expect the hand on his arm that has him aching a little with how casual it is. how do you ask someone not to let go without opening up what feels like such a vulnerable, pathetic sort of core, he wonders? at least what pal asks is an easy answer.]

Gladly. [he says without hesitation.] The things neither of us have seen too. It- you make good company, Palamedes. [a few moments and he makes himself say despite the sentiment,] I am very glad we met.

[Great, the new plan is to murder the sun. No, Palamedes is completely normal about this, but it still makes him smile to know with certainty that Viktor is getting a break, as it were.

Plenty of things are making him smile tonight, it seems - all of this in a row, Viktor's health and his immediate answer, that's— well! Well. Palamedes' touch doesn't leave his arm, as if perhaps the moment will end prematurely if he moves away, a thought that feels desperately like the worst possibility. He says:]

So am I. I'll be— looking forward to it.

[—And then he wonders in earnest what he should be doing with his hand, which still rests on Viktor's arm. Politely, he should move it, but like the numerous times in the bar, he doesn't really want to, and so - there is that. There is also the pervasive urge to pull him in close again, to quite literally hold onto those words, but they will never get to see the big bloodstone that way.

It winds up being the same path his hand charts, anyway, up Viktor's arm to his shoulder and this time to settle between his shoulder blades, moving a half-step closer to him and nodding towards the just-visible towering structure of The Red, up the street. Compromise, or something like it.]

We'll start here; how about it? And you know, we missed the opportunity to toast to your health— or is that too much?

[Maybe they can toast with some milk or whatever, at home... Viktor's mysterious sweetmilk.]

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me writing this tag: and in the bg, the school janitor off shift saw everything

asdfa tipping his hat to them and hoping they just go to the backrooms this time, please be sensible

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