[ Silco slips into his bed all gangly limbs, pressed right up against Vander's bulk because they don't both fit. He's more bandaged than usual, scrapes on his arms and hands from frantically pulling away rocks, digging through the cave in to try and rescue a fellow minor before his lungs were crushed. He can still hear the way it sounded, the muffled thump, the white-out certainty that he'd just lost the only friend he ever made. ]
You have the luck of the old goddess.
[ Because Vander was supposed to be on shift — he was supposed to be down there, with his skull crushed bloody like the body Silco found. He still has her blood under his nails.
He knows that's a sentiment better shared with a clap on the back and a shared drink, in the light of the evening lamps. Brotherly camaraderie, the kind Vander's been showing to him for years now. This is weak, climbing into his bed like a frightened child to reassure himself with Vander's warmth and the beat of his heart. But here he is. ]
[He's been in bed most of the day, unwilling victim to a flu running rampant through the mines. Normally he would have worked through it, but his bones have ached something awful for days now. He's barely slept, still awake now when Silco slips in the way he used to when they were children.
He makes a sound like a wheeze, brows furrowing as he turns his head, nose catching the sooty mass of Silco's hair. ] What happened?
[Because something did - beyond the horizon of Silco's hair, he can see the bandages, the dirt, the traces of dried blood. ] You okay? Did you get hurt?
[ He feels almost angry, something squeezed tight and vicious in his chest. At their Piltie employers, but also at Vander, for scaring him. ]
I thought...
[ He thought he was dead. He spent a long time certain of it, that Vander had died and all the things Silco hadn't said had calcified in his chest. Are still there now, a sick lump.
Vander is fever hot and Silco breathes it in, not caring that he'll probably get sick too, tightening his embrace. If he was the kind of person who knew how to cry, he'd probably be crying. ]
[ A shuddering and helpless exhale at hands on him, but there's nothing for them to find except Silco's wiry body. ]
Scraped my hands. Nothing serious.
[ Snapped nails and grazed palms as he'd thrown himself in a frenzy at hateful rocks. Vander's body is softer by contrast, warm reassurance. Of course it's terrible that others died, but not this one, the center of his little universe that all else circles. ]
Kytter. Tunneller too, but she's been dug out alive. Denrich is missing, they think he might be trapped further in. And you were — they didn't mark you off sick, it was only when Tun said you hadn't been on the shift we realized you weren't caught in it.
[ An exhale, and with this report completed he buries his nose back in Vander's chest, indulging himself in it. ]
[ It's been nearly two months. I have it handled, he'd told her at the festivities a few weeks ago, because he thought he did. Letting himself briefly indulge in the violence of a fighting ring; the slice on his forearm from the other man's knife has only recently shed its scab, is still pink and shiny. That should have been enough.
Back home, he relied heavily on men and women paid to keep their mouths shut about the time he spent with them. He understands there are sex workers here, as well, has even spoken with a couple. There's no reason for him to be in this state except for a fatal combination of curiosity and petty stubbornness.
"This state" being his slow transformation, of course. His crooked teeth sharpening, the scar on his face spreading like an ink blot over his features. He has his shirt off in their shared room at the boarding house, studying the dark patch of skin that's begun developing across his abdomen, narrow shoulders tense. For all he spoke so often about becoming a monster, it's difficult to feel it happen literally.
He's aware of her sudden presence without looking, but that's not a new development. ]
I need the room.
[ Go away being the subtext. Not something he tells her often or at all. ]
[I need the room, as though that would be a deterrent. As though Jinx, here in the muddy realms of Rubilyk, would listen. She doesn't flinch, which she's quite proud of. She might have flinched a month ago, rejection stinging as hard as a slap. Not today; today she closes the door behind her and prowls forward, head tilted in curiosity.
She touches his face first. Settles a palm over the ink-blot cheek, then thumbs his jaw, fingers curling close to the sharpened teeth, resisting a childish urge to hook her fingers into his mouth to feel out the change.
She hums low, blinks slow, the offers, softly: ] Uh oh, someone's been a bad boy, haven't they? [Someone hasn't been looking after themselves.
She understands, of course. Jinx has been barely holding it together, either. Fight, fight, fighting just to keep the monster at bay. Intimacy has always been a struggle, a foreign concept meant for other people. She hadn't needed it outside of Silco, had she? There wasn't space for it in the fight for Zaun, there wasn't a need. Not like -
Not like there is in Rubilyk. It's reassuring to see that Silco's been struggling too. Privately, she's almost pleased that there's been no one else. That it's still just them, for better or worse, as it's always meant to be.
She wets her lips, mapping out the small changes, the way he still looks so like himself, somehow. Familiar, comforting. She's still know him if he'd transformed fully, she's certain of that. Just like she's certain he'd still know her. This makes the decision easy, as though she hadn't made it the second day they arrived here. She's just been waiting, really. Anticipating. ]
[ Silco goes still — startled. She may think this is inevitable, but all he can think is that no matter how well he thinks he knows her she still has the capacity to blindside him. ]
Jinx...
[ He hasn't pushed her hand away. She could put her fingers in his mouth or slide into his lap and he'd let her, even if his jaw is tense under her touch, his shoulders tight. So controlled, even as strange forces ravage his body, fuelled by her playful chastisement, cloud his mind enough that, for a terrible moment, he finds himself trying to justify this.
There's a need. They can fill it for each other. It would be responsible. ]
You know I would never hurt you.
[ Looking up imploringly at her, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths. And if it's not violence, it has to be the other thing, a hand lifting to touch the bare skin above her hip. ]
[Does she? Hard to say. Hard to know anything most of the time with a noggin' like hers. He hurt her once; stuck something deep in her heart and twisted it. He's soothed the ache since, and fool her once, etc.
She likes to think he wouldn't hurt her. She accepts this as truth for now, and allows his hands on her hips. She allows her own fingers to curl under his chin, to keep it still as she steps up onto her tip-toes. Her damaged little heart thunders in her chest, all a pitter-patter. ]
Close your eye. Don't pretend I'm someone else. Don't.
[ He wishes he could disobey that command, but he is captivated wholly and unreasonably by her, and he is still thinking only of her when his eye falls closed (the other dropping, unlidded but unfocused, watching the smudges of blue and pale skin — no, even if he did have someone else in mind, there would be no refuge of fantasy here.) ]
Jinx.
[ Contrary to his promise, his fingers dig painfully tight, his voice hoarse and tremulous. ]
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bozo 2
You have the luck of the old goddess.
[ Because Vander was supposed to be on shift — he was supposed to be down there, with his skull crushed bloody like the body Silco found. He still has her blood under his nails.
He knows that's a sentiment better shared with a clap on the back and a shared drink, in the light of the evening lamps. Brotherly camaraderie, the kind Vander's been showing to him for years now. This is weak, climbing into his bed like a frightened child to reassure himself with Vander's warmth and the beat of his heart. But here he is. ]
no subject
He makes a sound like a wheeze, brows furrowing as he turns his head, nose catching the sooty mass of Silco's hair. ] What happened?
[Because something did - beyond the horizon of Silco's hair, he can see the bandages, the dirt, the traces of dried blood. ] You okay? Did you get hurt?
no subject
[ He feels almost angry, something squeezed tight and vicious in his chest. At their Piltie employers, but also at Vander, for scaring him. ]
I thought...
[ He thought he was dead. He spent a long time certain of it, that Vander had died and all the things Silco hadn't said had calcified in his chest. Are still there now, a sick lump.
Vander is fever hot and Silco breathes it in, not caring that he'll probably get sick too, tightening his embrace. If he was the kind of person who knew how to cry, he'd probably be crying. ]
no subject
[Because they've surely lost someone. Someones. He starts feeling clumsily along Silco's arms, his hips, hastily search for any sign of injury. ]
You're all right? You're in one piece?
no subject
Scraped my hands. Nothing serious.
[ Snapped nails and grazed palms as he'd thrown himself in a frenzy at hateful rocks. Vander's body is softer by contrast, warm reassurance. Of course it's terrible that others died, but not this one, the center of his little universe that all else circles. ]
Kytter. Tunneller too, but she's been dug out alive. Denrich is missing, they think he might be trapped further in. And you were — they didn't mark you off sick, it was only when Tun said you hadn't been on the shift we realized you weren't caught in it.
[ An exhale, and with this report completed he buries his nose back in Vander's chest, indulging himself in it. ]
jinx - rubi au
Back home, he relied heavily on men and women paid to keep their mouths shut about the time he spent with them. He understands there are sex workers here, as well, has even spoken with a couple. There's no reason for him to be in this state except for a fatal combination of curiosity and petty stubbornness.
"This state" being his slow transformation, of course. His crooked teeth sharpening, the scar on his face spreading like an ink blot over his features. He has his shirt off in their shared room at the boarding house, studying the dark patch of skin that's begun developing across his abdomen, narrow shoulders tense. For all he spoke so often about becoming a monster, it's difficult to feel it happen literally.
He's aware of her sudden presence without looking, but that's not a new development. ]
I need the room.
[ Go away being the subtext. Not something he tells her often or at all. ]
no subject
She touches his face first. Settles a palm over the ink-blot cheek, then thumbs his jaw, fingers curling close to the sharpened teeth, resisting a childish urge to hook her fingers into his mouth to feel out the change.
She hums low, blinks slow, the offers, softly: ] Uh oh, someone's been a bad boy, haven't they? [Someone hasn't been looking after themselves.
She understands, of course. Jinx has been barely holding it together, either. Fight, fight, fighting just to keep the monster at bay. Intimacy has always been a struggle, a foreign concept meant for other people. She hadn't needed it outside of Silco, had she? There wasn't space for it in the fight for Zaun, there wasn't a need. Not like -
Not like there is in Rubilyk. It's reassuring to see that Silco's been struggling too. Privately, she's almost pleased that there's been no one else. That it's still just them, for better or worse, as it's always meant to be.
She wets her lips, mapping out the small changes, the way he still looks so like himself, somehow. Familiar, comforting. She's still know him if he'd transformed fully, she's certain of that. Just like she's certain he'd still know her. This makes the decision easy, as though she hadn't made it the second day they arrived here. She's just been waiting, really. Anticipating. ]
Let me help you.
no subject
Jinx...
[ He hasn't pushed her hand away. She could put her fingers in his mouth or slide into his lap and he'd let her, even if his jaw is tense under her touch, his shoulders tight. So controlled, even as strange forces ravage his body, fuelled by her playful chastisement, cloud his mind enough that, for a terrible moment, he finds himself trying to justify this.
There's a need. They can fill it for each other. It would be responsible. ]
You know I would never hurt you.
[ Looking up imploringly at her, his chest rising and falling with his rapid breaths. And if it's not violence, it has to be the other thing, a hand lifting to touch the bare skin above her hip. ]
no subject
[Does she? Hard to say. Hard to know anything most of the time with a noggin' like hers. He hurt her once; stuck something deep in her heart and twisted it. He's soothed the ache since, and fool her once, etc.
She likes to think he wouldn't hurt her. She accepts this as truth for now, and allows his hands on her hips. She allows her own fingers to curl under his chin, to keep it still as she steps up onto her tip-toes. Her damaged little heart thunders in her chest, all a pitter-patter. ]
Close your eye. Don't pretend I'm someone else. Don't.
no subject
Jinx.
[ Contrary to his promise, his fingers dig painfully tight, his voice hoarse and tremulous. ]
Do it. Do it.