❪ event ❫ a moment in eternity

[natha]

TO THERE AND BACK     It has been a month of chills uncharacteristic of what you might remember as summer — cold days and even colder nights. The days are short and the nights feel eternal. With the recent disruption of the network and no sign of a resolution for the world outside of Nadril, one has to wonder what the future holds for El Nysa. What of Olympia, Wyver, and their residents? The animals you cared for - are they destined to remain as frozen as wretched Ysverai forever? What will become of the sleeping ones in Thesa when there is nowhere else to go but this icy city? Yet not all hope is lost just yet. The woman that appeared at the start of the network errors finally shows up again in another network post. Greetings to you all. I apologize for my abrupt appearance and departure before… My name is Nurray, and I am the closest thing to a monarch that you will find here in Nadril. Magda is... indisposed, so I am here to speak to you in his place. First and foremost, you will notice that your network devices are fully functional once more. Should you experience any further issues, please report them to me immediately so that it can be taken care of. Secondly… Investigating the strange frequency interference we've been experiencing has brought some troubling data to light. The passage of time outside of this colony has been halted, of course, but the hold seems... unstable. Whatever it is that Darma has done to contain the calamity, I doubt that it will last for long. Time is an unpredictable force, and attempting to control it can only have adverse effects on the world. You could stay here if you so chose, outside the reach of that magic... but to do that would be to abandon the rest of this planet to an unenviable fate. ...ah, but there is no need to take my word for it. You can see the effects for yourselves, if you wish — merely look outside. "Seeing is believing"... isn’t that the phrase? Nurray has a point: refugees have not been given a chance to see the outside. The frequent snowstorm barrier of Nadril has made it impossible to see what it's like beyond the colony. Soon after the network post, as though the snow has been "turned off," clouds will clear. With the barrier created by the snow gone, the red sun shines brightly upon the dreary city with its warmth. You can see a purple haze on the south horizon, a indication that Yservai wasn’t all just a dream. He's still there, so far away, yet so close anyway. Near the entrance, a mound of snow melts, revealing steps leading towards the underground. It seems to be a part of the subway station you might have found earlier during your exploration of the colony — this time, the station has been powered on. Two trains lie in wait — their destinations read: Olympia and Wyver. — El Nysa is waiting. FREEZE FRAME     The technology found in the subway station of Nadril is truly out of this world. The combined efforts of Natha technology and alien minds have truly created state-of-the-art transportation never before seen by the typical Nysan. It takes no longer than one hour for the intercoms to announce their arrival to the outskirts of the Dranbu Kingdom — though, even with the platform available, the train never stops; it instead continues for another half hour for it to reach the North Gate of the Olympian Empire, where it sits until it's time to return to the tundra. All in all, it takes a mere hour and a half for this high-speed subway travel from Nadril to Olympia. The second train does make a quick stop at the Olympian Station, but it will be another painless hour and a half until it reaches the jungle of the Wyver Kingdom. Because Wyver is its own island, connected only by a bridge, you might notice that a small part of the travel was underwater. The trip takes only a total of three hours, but there's plenty of time for sightseeing. After all, isn't that the whole point of this trip? BE STILL MY HEART. Leaving the train, you are immediately hit with the still, warm air of the underground. It's hot, much different from the winter of the north, but perhaps a welcome change. The station is old, but it still has a fairly new smell to it, and not just because it's been unused for so long. It feels out of place compared to the rest of this world, and this is especially true when you reach the surface. The entrance was hidden under the earth right near the North Gate. Upon leaving the station, you're immediately hit with the familiar wretched smell and atmosphere of the undead. Even if you're new, you won’tt be able to miss Ysverai, the risen Great Dragon. You see this massive creature on the horizon, mouth wide and ready to blast El Nysa into nothing. Yet he remains still — as are all the terrified residents of Olympia. You've only seen this on the monitors of Thesa Station, and now you're able to experience first-hand how utterly quiet and still the world is now. The native Olympians are all over — you see most of them running away from the Great Dragon. Others equipped their armors and rode their steeds straight toward the danger in hopes of protecting their Empire. And the civilians, having lost all hope, are huddled together — at least they would have been able to spend their final moments with loved ones. Up on Thesa Station, you felt dread when you'd observed Ysverai for too long — this remains true here. That dread reaches your heart and clutches it. You feel his pain and suffering, and for those too in tune with emotions, it may be too much for you to be near him. Best to steer clear from him, or perhaps return to the underground. There is much more to be seen, after all. PRAYING WITH FIRE. Another hour and a half south on the subway, and you'll reach the Wyver Station. It's far warmer here in the station this further south, but Ysverai's dread doesn't reach here. On the surface, you are instead immediately hit with the overwhelming humidity of the jungle. With summer in full swing, the layers you've brought with you from Nadril become a burden. In Wyver, the mood is far different. The Great Dragon Yservai was once a being that was respected and worshipped by the Wyver people — not to mention that the one responsible is none other than Prince Raysc — thus his revival is met with somber resilience. Most of Wyver natives, instead of running away, had gathered around fires in prayer. Trained dragons that were unaffected by Ysverai's influence bow by their master's sides in acceptance of what they feel in their heart is to come with the Great Dragon's final blow. You may even spot your own dragon, eyes beamed up toward Thesa, like it knows you were up there at the moment time stood still. It's hard to imagine where one can go from here. You might start thinking about clean-up efforts, how to achieve proper burials for the fallen ones... but with time frozen, you will find that you cannot actually move anything or anyone. It will be dusk, as Thesa's shines across the skies, when storm cloud gather before Thesa's light. And from the clouds is a familiar figure — Once again, she has descended. TIME & TIME AGAIN     Darma is glowing as bright as the naked eye can perceive. Her massive, true form floats before the world she's built from dust. Is this world salvageable in your eyes, Refugee? We held time in hopes that we fould find a way to dissolve this Ysverai back to the ashes from which he was reanimated. Unfortunately, we continue to be unseeing, thus uncertain of the future... after all, our powers are near depleted. Nurray was correct, Refugee, in that I cannot hold time for much longer. There is... another way, however. It is not ideal by any means, but we shall do what we must to keep Ysverai frozen. As for us... we have expended far too much of our energy — Refugee, I am too aware of the misfortunes you've experienced in your time here. I have failed in my promise to provide better living... perhaps, with more time, I may yet see a better future. Until then, I leave Thesa, our hearts, in your hands. Farewell, Refugee. Her brightness dims as she says her final words — at the same time, raises her arms, palms wide, then closes her hands into a fist. In that instant, time is resumed. It's slow at first, as though time is trying to catch up with reality. It takes a several moments until the slow-motion picture before them reaches normalcy. Darma turns her attention to Yservai, whose motion is also returning, but not for long. In her true form, they are comparable in size; Darma's glow continues to dim as she draws closer to the Great Dragon, and then she coils herself around him, holding him still before assimilating into the wretched creature. By the end of it, time has completely returned to normal, and all residents were able to witness the Natha holding time still for Ysverai — The process turns the Great Dragon, as well as Darma, into stone. HIT PLAY TO REPLAY     Darma has resumed time, and Ysverai is no longer a threat. However, it comes with a hefty price for the Natha. The massive, stone statue of Darma embracing Ysverai looms in the valley between the cities of Olympia and Wyver. It's no doubt an intimidating addition to the world, but there is some peace in knowing it's all over. When civilians finally come to, they can't help but look upon the statue in awe — and their respective cities. It's much to take in all at once. Much destruction has been wrought— buildings lay in ruin, and of the citizens still alive, many look to be in poor physical condition. 1. I. The Sanctuary has sustained much damage, and with the high demand of medical care, cannot serve as the central healing place for those in need. Instead, it is up to individual citizens to find resources and establish places of care. Those with a medical inclination or healing powers may set up medical tents, or work out of their homes. Not everything has been destroyed, and it is still possible to obtain supplies from the market or request them from The Sanctuary. There is also, unfortunately, the tragic task of transporting corpses to graveyards and giving fallen citizens a proper burial. The Temples thank you for your service. II. In order to have a functioning city again, buildings and facilities must be repaired and rebuilt. It's possible your own home was demolished in the battle. With so many important buildings needing to be repaired, city officials are too overwhelmed with the coordination of such tasks to double-check that buildings are restored to their original form. What's more, they seem to encourage design innovation, believing that a new, fresh look to the city will revitalize people's morale. Now is the time to put your own unique flair on the interior or exterior of Olympia's infrastructure. Even parts of the Palace need repair. Time has resumed, yes, but the magic that Darma employs isn't flawless. As powerful of an entity as she may be, to tamper with time is difficult. Some would say it defies the laws of nature. Nature seems to agree, and in the next few weeks, El Nysa will be facing a few hiccups as it finds its equilibrium once more and citizens try to return to normalcy. Strangely enough, El Nysa natives are not disturbed by the occurrence of these events. III. Characters may find that they occasionally (or frequently) suffer from lapses in memory. These difficulties with memory may range from light to severe, although they are thankfully not permanent. Within the span of a few minutes to a few hours, difficulties in remembering people and events are resolved. That isn't to say a similar problem won’t happen again tomorrow… IV. Is it just you, or is your housemate looking a bit old lately? No, it isn't just stress making some citizens appear older. For a short amount of time, some characters may find themselves advancing or regressing in age, both physically and mentally. This particular kind of time hiccup is rare and may be particularly disturbing to the affected person’s friends. Thankfully, there have been no cases of this effect lasting more than an hour. V. At times, it seems as though objects and people in El Nysa will feel a bit out of place. These are beings and things that belong to what some may call "alternate universes." Their presence is transient, and some will only appear for a few instances before returning to their rightful existence. The ones that linger a bit longer, however, may make your day more interesting. Before you stands a pet just like yours, except it talks...? Perhaps you'll meet another version of yourself, a more bloodthirsty version of yourself. Or maybe you'll run into a version of your friend that really enjoys your company. The possibilities are truly endless, and potentially mortifying. VI. Towards the end of the month, the frequency of the aforementioned disturbances will decrease. Following this will be an increase in a different sort of disturbance: one that will either make literal seconds seem like an eternity, or force you to move and talk at a speed you never thought possible. It's as though some higher entity is pressing the fast forward or slow down button on life, and considering your mind works at the same pace as normal, the phenomenon is as frustrating as it sounds. Hope you weren't planning to be on time for anything, because it might be awhile before the universe allows you to take that next step. But these phenomena does draw to a close — and with it, you may wonder what will happen now to those sleeping ones in Thesa now that Darma has turned to stone. After all, it will be near the time of which more refugees should wake... Repairs to Thesa Station should remain ongoing so long as parts can be salvaged from Nadril, at least. And with speed travel via subway possible, it should make travel far easier than ever before. Even with Darma gone, you will have to move forward. There is still much to be done. FINAL OOC NOTES     You may acquire REP for Nadril, and either Olympia or Wyver in this log. An AC-eligible thread for ONE (1) NADRIL REP POINT may be submitted HERE BY AUGUST 26TH, 11:59 PM EST. A second AC-eligible thread for 1 REP for either Olympia OR Wyver may be submitted HERE OR HERE BY AUGUST 26TH, 11:59 PM EST. Please direct questions to the questions thread below! Thank you! QUICK NAV premise ● faq ● lore ● map ● npcs taken ● atp/emp ● application ● rep/acp calendar ● hiatus/drops ● modbox [ FULL NAVIGATION ] elnysa nysalogs nysaisles nysaooc elnyan

Comments

[priorly]

[Prior hangs round the counter while Richie pays, far enough back not to look like he's associated with the gift being bought. It's funny how, watching Richie hand notes across, the shoes are obviously for somebody else, not even a question about it. While if Prior was standing there trying to pay he's sure there'd be enough eyes boring holes in him he'd be a leaky sieve forever more.

Once the deed is done, the goods being bagged up, he strays toward the window - still a little closed off from someone who'd model shoes in the middle of a store (still wearing a secret smile that he did). He's still able to act the wallflower, for now, caught in that teenage dilemma of wanting to be noticed and wanting to be invisible.

When Richie comes his way, his expression's turned thoughtful. Skeptical even.]

You really think nobody minds - [The what hangs in the air. It's maybe easier to understand toleration rather than acceptance. But still.] Because that doesn't make sense. If they've taken people from where I come from and just dropped them here, it doesn't make sense.

[You can change scenery easier than attitudes. And even if he's got a bunch of rough printed zines that peddle the political rhetoric of a world where things could be different, the idea it would exist as easily as snapping your fingers, tripping over a rainbow - that's pure incomprehensible.]

Maybe they just don't say what they think.

[And somehow that's worse. It's those airless atmospheres where bad things grow]

[summertimeblues]

[He's got the clodhoppers in a tidy box, which he makes to pass to their new owner the moment he rejoins his company and pushes the door open to the wide wide world. All is conducted in silence.

Heavy stuff. And he's right in that people typically keep their judgments tucked in where they won't bite them in the ass, but all it ever takes is a stray spark to ignite them, set off a crackle of fireworks. Congrats, you're a bigot! Sling your slurs, flex your knuckles, today is your hour!

Remembering his recoil at Byerly's mistletoe kiss has his stomach turning a guilty roll.]

The native Nysans don't give a shit. [He waits for Prior to join him outside.] No, really. They don't. It's a kind of Classical Grecian atmosphere, except they're better about keeping pederasty out of the picture. It's very free love. Don't go to the temple, it's painted in body fluids.

As for the refugees? [He clucks his tongue, staring off down the street with a tight jaw.] You know, fuck 'em. The bulk of them also don't give a shit, and the ones that do either figure out the error of their ways lickety split or they get shafted by the rest real quick. And there are far, far stranger qualities a guy can have than wanting to play Dorothy with her ruby slippers.

[priorly]

[Richie's answer's given more gravely than Prior expected. Still with the irreverence that's seemed off kilter for a respectable adult right from the outset, but all that overlying something unexpectedly serious. Prior almost asks if he knows all this from experience, but keeps a hold on his tongue. Traumatic histories are no good for any kind of atmosphere.

Maybe he'll ask later. After. For now he's got a shoebox tucked into the crook of one arm, and no idea where he's heading, but some sort of sense that he'll just know how to get there.

He gives Richie a smile, grateful and half-shy for how honest it is.] Well I don't always have to play Dorothy. But it would be nice if no one minded us being friends.

[He looks one way, then the other, with the feel of a dog scenting the air for some kind of trail. Then, on what could as easily be a whim, strikes out west. Somehow it doesn't seem like it's too far.

He stays close as the walk - box in one arm, keys still wrapped in the fingers of the other hand. Restrictive, but he lets his shoulder bump against Richie's from time to time, matching the contact with quick glances.]

So it's a Grecian society. That's... philosophy and naked wrestling, right?

[He learned a lot in school.]

[summertimeblues]

If they do I've got a puckered asshole ripe for the kissing.

[The little bumps and missteps don't bother him too much. Kids are wispy-minded, and Prior seems overeager for someone to speak plainly to. It's all very puppy-style.

Worries about the faded memories are unfounded. Prior does dally at the crossroads, but he makes turns at all the right corners and is leading the way with mounting surety. It's like the ghost of Eds is leading him along.]

Ah — less philosophy than you'd hope. There was some dirty fighting pits a while back. It's bordering on excessive if you ask me, but them's the brakes.

[priorly]

[Prior explodes in a half-shocked laugh at that whole puckered asshole comment, wishing he was quick enough for a comeback like well don't make it sound so appealing, they'll be lining up round the block! or don't you think you're getting ahead of yourself? You haven't even bought me a drink. But he's too busy taking steady breaths in the hope that they'll keep down yet another blush (they don't, not at all) and in no time Richie's moving on to other pastures.

Prior's mind moves on a lot slower. He takes in the news of fighting pits with the kind of that's nice dear nod his dad used to placate his mother with in the years before he moved out. Only he's still thinking about kissing and...

Well, anyway. That's personal.

But, hold on, if he's given long enough he can get some kind of line in, here.]

So you're a lover, not a fighter?

[He holds up a hand - stop - and glances at the keys caught between two fingers. This building. This is the one. Or at least they can take the elevator and try it out for size, just in case.]

Well, what do you know. That interests me more than philosophy anyway.

[summertimeblues]

[The blush doesn't go unchecked. He has to keep looking to make sure the kid isn't peeling off into uncharted territory or getting too squirrely at how chummy Richie's been. He knows he'd be a touch suspicious himself, but all he sees is unmeasurable gratitude. Sheepishness, perhaps at his blue turns of phrase. He'd grow out of that quick enough, get the fire to spit it back just as good as he was given. For now it plays to his sympathies.

(Sympathy streaked with a hint of disquiet. He wasn't that funny. He had better material in the wings that he's not even touched.)]

I'd say more a jester, but in the fundamentals yes. I'm done with black eyes and cracked glasses.

[He halts when ordered to. Maybe a step too early. It's their building, instinct demands he slows the pace.]

Don't knock the eggheads. I liked it. [As a younger fellow anyway. Oh so casually now:] Is this our winner?

[priorly]

It's our gamble, at least. [Prior grins, and risks catching his fingers in Richie's just for a second, to tug him toward the steps.] Come on?

[And at the elevator he presses the call button and already knows which button he'll press once they're inside. It's like a flood of minute pieces of information: if he picked through them he could find all sorts of treasure, but for now his mind's just picking out what's needed, at exactly what time.

He's looking at Richie more intent as the numbers scroll down. A moment of trying to build himself up to it, maybe. Ritchie's older, but not in any kind of decrepit sense of the word, and a wonky kind of handsome which hits a couple of notes that Prior's always appreciated. For someone who spends enough time putting himself together each morning, he's always had an odd fondness for the places in other people where the seams pull slightly apart.

And he is funny. Sharp, too, but not unkind with it. All those things, plus the step Prior takes backward to check out the rear view once the door opens and Richie heads inside add up to a rush of naive confidence and excitement when Prior follows him.

That's on top of the swell of - something - pride? That comes with owning his own apartment. Owning anything, anything being his and not in some way his family's, or his much vaunted name's a new kind of feeling, too. He wonders if Richie will kiss him as soon as he lets him inside. Push him up against the wall, maybe. Or if that's just too many movies and Richie's not really a wall pusher at all. How do you know if someone is?

(Prior thinks he might be.)

But maybe he can get a jump on things before they're even there. Surprise Richie a little. Please him, too.

The keys tuck into his pocket, for now. The elevator's not large, but it's not small either, and Prior steps in to stand close enough that the back of his hand brushes against the back of Richie's. He can hear himself breathing.]

My own apartment. Man, that's pretty wild. [He presses the number for the floor fate's guiding him to. Swallows hard.] But there's a philosophy to gambling too, right? Like, never bet everything on just the one horse? So if the keys don't work, we can come back in here and mash all the buttons until the whole thing just stops.

[He tips his head back, the curve of his throat bobbing with another swallowed breath. And blindly, he lets his hand graze across the front of Richie's jeans, coming to rest high (high) against the top seam at his thigh.]

Or we could just do that now.

[summertimeblues]

[Little things are adding up.

The nab of his hand when they go for the steps. There and then gone, flash in the pan. Probably his imagination, there wasn't much to fret about.

The glances to him in the elevator. Those get his hands back to the safety of his pockets, and where before he was elated at every sign of recall, he finds himself unable to fixate on how Prior pushes exactly the right button. He feels under the microscope. A little hotter at the collar? No no, it's imagination again, ever the relentless culprit. Prior's hopping in an elevator with a stranger, about to enter a home he thinks he's never been in. That's all nerves talking, Prior's fine. Richie's fine. Everything's swell.

He gives a tidy chuckle at the first exclamation. Pretty wild, sure.] You bet. [Then Prior continues on. For about five seconds it's all gravy.

Come back in here and mash all the...

The space between his brows thins as they push to crash together. His lips disappear in a bloodless line.

Then there's wandering fingers a precocious inch above his crotch.

Oh god.

Oh god!]

—Ah—

[His hand clasps Prior's wrist, not tight but urgent, and his face blooms red as a wedding bouquet.

(The fact that his pulse takes a jolt and something baser mirrors it is probably just from the dry spell, you know. Sandra's in stasis, By was a drunken one off, and he doesn't take the homegrown Olympians to bed any longer, not after his last date chloroformed him and took him hostage. It's nothing. It's just shock and alarm.)]

Kid, that's — ha ha, very generous offer, that, but you're— [Going to regret it once you turn back?] —on the wrong side of thirty.

[Also you're a man. But now the coyness and the desperation makes so much sense, his questions about judgment so earnest, Richie doesn't think he needs to pile a second humiliation on top of this one. Shit, is this some vibe he's giving off? That's twice now, three times if he counts the looks he was getting at that Flona Cove casino.

What in the living fuck?]

[priorly]

[Prior expected some reaction, but the one he's getting doesn't make the first bit of sense. For the first half-second when Richie's hand wraps his wrist he's expecting some kind of redirection. A guiding, upward drag. Having his hand dragged away like a kid caught sneaking the a premature cookie from a fresh baked tray isn't the right kind of guide at all.

But it's not violent, either. Carefully not, and to sound that close to flipping out and still be working to be gentle is a muddle of signals Prior's not able to follow.

Generous offer? The wrong side of thirty?]

But I'm on the good side. [It may be the stupidest thing to protest but it's all that comes to mind. He tugs his arm free to turn, frustrated and hiding something more vulnerable behind that.]

What did you pick me up for, otherwise? Like, do I look 43 from the back?

[You're coming home with him, Richie. Talking all familiar. What else would anyone think this is.]

[summertimeblues]

[There are many choice words he could have over such a base accusation. This just isn't the time for a duel between age and youth.

Got to shove that aside for all the alarm he's ringing bold with. Let's start with the demand for answers.]

I did not pick you up!

[Except...

Doing a hasty rewind here, what does this look like? He'd approached him without preamble, spinning yarns about Cinderelly, bought him a pair of sexy shoes, and was now in an elevator to a supposed stranger's apartment.

Dear Lord in heaven, he has sinned and sinned greatly. Richie claps a hand to his forehead, equal parts embarrassed, regretful, and desperate. Reasonable explanations just won't come to him.]

Oh my god. Look, I can get why — right, looking back I can see how it comes across, but I was trying...fuck! First off, I'm sorry, truly, I didn't mean anything by this—

[priorly]

[People don't play fairy godmother for no reward. They don't shell out tidy sums on shoes they don't expect to see hooked over their shoulders. They don't smile the way Richie's smiled at Prior, half-disguised delight when he remembered he had a place of his own, or take up the offer to head there half so easily without expecting something to go on behind that closed door. Prior's barely left home for pity's sake and he knows there's some unwritten rulebook containing all of that.]

It's fine.

[He looks stung but set-jawed, at least for as long as he looks Richie's way, because he turns his back on him in favor of the elevator doors right after.]

You're... I don't know, married or straight or something. Well you don't have to feel guilty. All you did was look at my ass and head home.

[He sniffs, face turned steadfastly out of sight, and on that cue the door opens, tipping Prior out, shoebox still clasped in his arms because like hell is he giving that back just because his benefactor couldn't follow through.

Only there's a rip in the carpet his brain hasn't adjusted to, and the thing goes flying the second he's out of Richie's sight, glitter and tissue paper everywhere.]

Fuck.

[The cuss comes echoing back to the elevator and - following on its heels, something softer and more surprised.

Something with a yelp of pain caught behind it.]

A-Ah, fuck.

[Out in the hall, Prior Walter, neither one side of thirty or the other but precisely that age, is curled up, hugging his leg.]

[summertimeblues]

[There isn't a hole deep enough to bury his ass in. Richie's heart tries to find one anyhow, sinking down down down until it can batter through his feet and then the floor. Has he ever felt so low?

Oh yeah. He has. When he did the same thing to Byerly.]

Prior, wait—

[It's pathetic. He wouldn't turn back if it were him. The kid is launching out of the elevator.

Much more literally than anticipated. Richie gasps and reaches out, missing, sees the kid eat it on the carpet like a nerd bowling over under a meathead's push.

The cry that comes out on the ground is not that of any child. The clothes have changed. The physique. Richie's jolted out of one horror into another.]

Prior! [He bolts forward, kneeling to meet him on the floor.] Pry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, your leg! Fuck, let me—

[priorly]

[There's a hand out quick in response, not quite pushing Richie back but keeping him away.]

Don't - don't touch it, thank you.

[He holds a tight breath and lets it out slowly, an easy tell that something hurts and hurts bad, if it wasn't obvious enough already. Between the electric jolts of nerve pain, his brain's trying to put itself back in the right alignment - whatever godawful embarrassment just took place in the elevator trying to settle someplace between just now and twelve years ago.

It's almost a relief to have other things to focus on. The cotton-wool feeling clogging up his lungs. The shadow coming down over his eyes again. Almost a relief.

But in the kind of way that's half breaking his heart at the same time.]

It's fine. [Said sharp, and sounding like an echo.] I'm used to it. Or I will be - just give me a minute.

[summertimeblues]

[He obeys. Hands off? Yes buddy, whatever you want. He's at your beck and call, just don't tell him to fuck off. Richie doesn't think he could take it.

His eyes dart between points of interest. The gritting teeth, the purpling of the eyes, the clutch and coil of his limp leg.

There's very little to be done. What few options are left to them now?]

Painkillers? [He offers breathlessly. Standing idly by doesn't suit his rollicking gut one bit.]

[priorly]

No, they don't touch it, never have.

[It takes opiates to knock this kind of pain out, strong ones, and they knock him out, too. He really will rally in a minute. It was just the sudden drop from one life to another, right before the sudden drop that slammed his knee into the floor. Talk about shitty timing.

There's no time and no privacy to mourn for the things he's remembered he's lost, now. Leave that to later. He's acutely aware of Richie's discomfort, even through his own.

So, after a moment - another rallying breath -]

You could pick up my shoes.

[Despite everything, one corner of his mouth can't help tugging up with that. Richard Tozier, for fucks sake.]

[summertimeblues]

[You don't live with a guy for a month and not figure as much out. It was in part the sharp and sudden cry, the barreling to the ground, and also the frenetic helplessness that had him making the offer. Maybe it had been a new hurt on the old one, banging off the floor like that. Or growing pains, hahaha, so clever.

He gapes a moment, then claps his mouth shut. The flush hadn't abated, and the fresh shame brings it to rosier hues.]

...Right.

[So dutifully he plays fetch, collecting the left by the elevator and the right by the running boards, then bringing them back to Prior like the bashful lapdog he's become. He crouches with heels in hand, still clueless with what to do with them. Still very, very sorry.]

[priorly]

[Oh, it's interesting seeing Richie blush from this angle, and that's not referring to the view from the floor. Prior still remembers just how hard he'd been shut down when he'd accidentally stumbled onto Richie's coping strategy for resurrection: booze and narcotics and hate sex, a very particular blend that Prior assumed was made more potent by the equal measure of self-loathing that seemed to be involved.

But Richie's straight, to his mind. Awkward and ungainly about it sometimes, and easily affectionate at others. Not as easy to read as some people (kind, he remembers thinking, back in a body that hadn't fully grown into the length of its limbs, he was kind). But as hetero conditioned as they came, for all that his tolerance was easily broadened to acceptance, here.

And there's something half amused, half fond about the way Prior watches him go chasing after that pair of heels, stretching his leg out in front of him to relieve a little of the pressure.

The shoes are gaudy, now he looks at them with these eyes. Something he might have worn on stage during that particular phase of his life, but nothing he'd fall over himself for. The novelty of the inherent taboo those shoes encapsulate has worn off and left a kind of nostalgia in its place.

He can't quite believe that Richie actually bought the things. The memory of that easy manipulation finally drags a smile across his face as he holds his hands out to take them.]

They're pretty. Then again, so was I - you missed a trick there. [Shameless.] Literally.

[Sorry, sorry, he's laughing, there's no helping it. Good grief.]

[summertimeblues]

[Conditioned to a tee, sadly. To the point where he couldn't tell what he was picking up or putting down. His reasons for such unjust benelovence were beyond convoluted: how could he have expected the kid — expected Prior to understand? Hey boy, you're the ghost of Prior Past, and knowing how your life shakes out and getting an inkling of what life as an "other" must really be is taking a toll, why don't I throw you a bone kid? Why don't I follow you home so you can work out who you really are, get back to normal, remember who I am? I won't speak a word of it, just take it as a Good Samaritan act won't you? Just as a pal, just as a pair of dudes, nothing more or less.

Yet he did expect it, and did so blindly. He knows what he is and what he's after, so why should he doubt the rest of the world saw it plain too?

Idiot.

Protests cross his mind (You still are pretty, Prior, even a dolt like me can see that) but the double entendre smacks them away. The peals of laughter draw a short and indignant squawk.

Then he twitches. The smile eases back onto his face, though it stays as abashed as the rest of him.]

All right. All right! If you don't stop busting a gut you're gonna herniate.

[He wipes at his face. Kee-rist.]

So...you're not sore about this.

[Probably not, judging from the giggle fit. Better check though, just in case.]

[priorly]

[There are things he'll be sore about (beyond the physical) but they're all tied up in other kinds of lost chances. Not getting rejected as an ingenue by someone with no idea what kind of trenches he was marching into.

Approaching a boy he'd never said one word to with all kinds of reassurances that his desires were good, and reasonable, and allowed, here - he'd been the white queen holding out a jewelled box of turkish delight and asking Prior to come closer. Is it any wonder he expected the next step to be dipping his fingers in for a piece. To Prior then, having the thing snapped on his fingers hurt and confused, but to Prior now?

It's the best laugh he's had in a while.]

Sore? [He bites his lip only to stop the laughing, which only resettles it in his body, shaking his shoulders instead.] I got free shoes. I might even take them back for some I'll actually wear.

[He won't. These will be on display in his room for a while, somewhere easily visible from the door.]

Honestly Richie, if I'd known you were such an easy hustle I'd have offered you a piece before.

[Come on, get that sheepish look off your face, it doesn't suit. Prior will take scandalised any day over that.]

[summertimeblues]

I'm not! [But lo, is that not hard evidence in his hands? Richie scoffs and gives an affable shove to Prior's shaking shoulders, but now the laughter's turning infectious. He fights to argue though burgeoning chuckles himself.

Could anything have been more ludicrous?]

For Pete's sake, I was trying to be nice! It was fifty-fifty if you were gonna stick that way, what I supposed to do? Leave you hanging? Call it a lost cause and say sayonara for good? Jesus!

[priorly]

[Prior drags a hand up over his face, smoothing fingers through his hair - and nods. There's no argument to any of this.]

You are nice. It's a terrible achilles heel.

[It makes the faint humiliation of asking this next question easier. He reaches that arm out-]

Help me up?

[summertimeblues]

[There are worse things to be accused of, he supposes.

Richie tuts fondly at the extended hand.] Of course.

[He takes the shoes both by the heel in his left as he works to set Prior erect with the right, positioning himself to take the brunt of any stumbles if that bum leg's going to act up.]

[priorly]

[There are, but few so likely to get you in trouble. Prior gives up the shoes readily, taking Richie's right hand and resting his own left on the man's shoulder - it's an ungainly way of getting to one's feet, but whatever works.

There are no stumbles, but once he's upright he tilts in toward Richie anyway, a quick dart that presses a kiss intended for his cheek to the very corner of his mouth, instead. Gratitude.

Gratitude that comes with a wink as Prior turns back to their door, dipping his hand into his pocket for the keys he's been carrying these last twelve years.]

[summertimeblues]

[It's a day for the unexpected, apparently. He doesn't move to dodge so much as turns quizzically, giving that extra hair that meant the difference between a cheek peck and an almost on the lips.

Richie stiffens (it's not enough, not enough to do anything, calm down you won't get sick) and blinks dumbly at the wink.

Then he cuts a laugh, tossing a hand his way and putting on airs of indignation.]

Don't tease! You're breaking my heart!

[When Prior's back's to him he makes to wipe the spot away, even if it had been dry and chaste as a nun with a penny locked between her knees. Phantom heat and dampness linger all the same. It does nothing to help his stubborn flush.

He's thoughtlessly brushed at his trousers where the younger, more daring Prior had been reaching before, and wrests his hand away when he realizes what's being done.]

[priorly]

Tease? Deliberate cruelty is not forgivable. It is the one unforgiveable thing, in my opinion, and it is the one thing of which I have never, never been guilty.

[Blanche Dubois turns the key in the lock and sweeps a look round at Richie. Prior's lips don't seem to wear the weight of that little kiss - and why should they, it didn't mean a thing other than thank you. A little touch of the ease he's starting to find here, that's all.

Though, maybe he's letting himself relax too easily, too quickly. There's a danger to getting affectionate where it won't be wanted. The smile on his lips turns uncertain for just a second, catching the mismatch between Richie's tone and the look on his face. Prior's focus flicks briefly downward but

Well. It's probably nothing. Casual rearrangement after moving from a crouch to a stand. Keeping that smile fixed, Prior takes a breath and leads them home. He could use a glass of wine and some time alone to sift through the strange mix of hopeful and hurtful the day has been.]